When young, I didn’t think much about time, except for how it always cut the magic short. But in my thirties, I walked toward death with cancer, and time showed itself as a threshold to the Eternal moment that will not die. And decades on, I’ve come to see time as an endless wind that forces us to stop, that urges us to carry on, that pauses, now and then, to let us sit in the Mystery where all things start and come to rest, only to start again. Time: my problem, my teacher, my steadfast reducer, my friend.
Lately, time feels less like something I manage and more like something I listen to. It presses, stretches, disappears—and then suddenly returns as presence. The more I surrender to its rhythm, the more timeless I feel. Thank you Mark.
Lately, time feels less like something I manage and more like something I listen to. It presses, stretches, disappears—and then suddenly returns as presence. The more I surrender to its rhythm, the more timeless I feel. Thank you Mark.
Befriending time. Beautiful, Mark.
What a poem. ❤